


Miles to Go

by needsmoreyellow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Childhood Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needsmoreyellow/pseuds/needsmoreyellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three days, Sam can't sleep, and he's definitely not telling Gabriel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles to Go

The clock on his bedside table reads 5:22 AM.

That leaves eight minutes until his alarm goes off, and that’s eight minutes he considers trying to sleep just so he can say that he did. His brain is fuzzy and muddled and _awake_ with the frustration of tossing and turning in bed for seven hours with no luck, and when he relents and leans over to stop his alarm before it can even begin, the bright red numbers sting his eyes.

That’s the second night in a row.The second time this week that he’ll be going to work with circles under his eyes, expected not to slur at customers as he hands them their coffee.

The clock reads 5:31 AM. Sam takes a minute to thank God that he didn’t have to hear his alarm and then swings himself aggressively out of bed before his body has a chance to resist. It’s cold and quiet and dark and it hurts to blink, and when he stumbles out of his bedroom and into the bathroom to piss the light makes him whimper.

At least he’ll sleep well tonight. Two sleepless nights is probably enough exhaustion to make him pass out, and the thought comforts him in ways that it definitely shouldn’t.

“Mmm.”

The shower doesn’t really help, the coffee doesn’t really help, and his stomach growls weakly at him when he tries to swallow his toast; upset and out of balance with the fact that his brain wants nothing more than to shut down. 

It’s cold outside. His hoodie is comfortable and warm but his hair won’t cooperate and the air is chilly and biting and he closes his eyes against it for a second and immediately regrets it when it’s suddenly a struggle to open them again. 

_It’s only four hours, Sam. Only four. You can do it._

The bus is right on time and scattered with tired souls with the same routine, and he makes it to work right with time to spare. Same as usual.

 

Only two hours in, he feels his body starting to reject itself, but he pushes back against it and smiles at the lady with the blissfully silent toddler as if nothing’s wrong. Charlie chats and laughs with him almost non-stop, only making one comment about how he looks like a Pandaren and relenting at Sam’s I-have-no-idea-what-that-means expression.

It’s good, in a way. He feels edgy and tense and uncharacteristically angry at everything, and maybe part of him wants to tell Charlie to shut up, but it’s noise and it’s friendly noise and it’s stopping him from draping himself over the countertop and calling it quits.

“Seriously, Sam, you didn’t have to come in, today- Garth could have covered you. Have you been to a doctor, yet?”

He checks the door for new customers but finds none, which means he has no excuse not to talk.

“I don’t need to see a doctor, I’m just having a bad week. ‘Happens.”

“What about Gabriel?”

“What about him?”

“Have you told him?”

“Why would I tell him?”

“I don’t know, you live together-”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Um, okay.”

Sam sighs and they take a moment to take someone’s order. Once they sit down Sam checks the door again and frowns to himself, scrubbing at his eyes.

He sees Charlie frown out of the corner of his eye, but she doesn’t say anything more about it. She doesn’t really know Gabriel that well and, if he’s being honest, Sam would rather go a week straight without sleep than whine to him about anything.

“Really, Charlie, he’d just- tell me I need to get laid or something-”

“You do-”

“Shut up.”

“Isn’t he like, seven years older than you? There’s gotta be some sort of...dad instinct in there.”

“‘Dad instinct?’”

“You know…”

“Charlie.”

“Fine, I’m not saying anything, I just don’t want you turning me into a zombie.”

“Thanks.”

 

The house is still empty when Sam gets home, and he doesn’t even have the energy to change into pajamas before he tries to curl back up in bed. The sheets are messy and smell stale and his pillow is flat and no matter how hard he tries he can’t get his room to be dark enough and it’s _awful._

Fantastic.

Still, he stays there, trying his best to stay as still as possible and ignore any urges to toss or itch or breathe too deeply, praying to every possible God that he’ll get even an hour of rest today.

And then he hears the front door. Which means that Gabriel is home. Which means he’s been here for at least two hours and didn’t even realize it, and that he still hasn’t slept.

Even better.

“Sam, you home?!”

Sam breathes in and exhales, long and slow and agonized, and pushes himself up. He can hear Gabriel putting his jacket by the door, the familiar clatter of his keys on the kitchen counter, and it’s as soothing as it is infuriating.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” 

The hallway feels long. He blinks fast and brushes his hair back with his fingertips, and the smile on Gabriel’s face when he lays eyes on him makes him feel a little bit dizzy.

“Shit, kid, did I wake you?”

“No- I was just resting my eyes. Welcome home.”

“Mmm.”

If Sam looks awful, Gabriel must not notice, because he turns away without any comment to open the fridge, leaning on the door with the relief of anyone home after a long day.

“What are you feeling for dinner?”

“I don’t know, whatever you want.”

“Yeah? Hmm, okay-”

That’s definitely one of the perks of living with Gabriel. He makes dinner every night without a fuss, and it’s almost always good.

And he wishes he could appreciate it, but that nausea he’s been trying hard to ignore all day is back and better than ever, and maybe God will be more helpful with his appetite than He was with helping Sam sleep.

Sam hopes so.

 

He’s not.

God must have left the building, because one hour Sam is absolutely fine and the next Gabriel is putting food on the table and it’s five o’clock in the evening and he realizes that, with three total days and two sleepless nights, he’s been awake for seventy-two hours straight.

Which apparently doesn’t sit well with his stomach or his brain, because when he smiles and excuses himself to go to the bathroom to splash his face with water he actually ends up bent over and heaving nothing into the toilet.

And it’s not like this is _new_ ― he’s pulled all-nighters to cram in precious study time or finish reports, he’s gone three days with only a lot of coffee and well-timed naps, but he’s never felt like _this_.

He leans his head against the cold plastic of the toilet seat and whines softly. It’s so tempting to just shut his eyes and fall asleep here, but he knows that it won’t work.

“...Sam?”

Fuck.

“Hm?”

“You okay in there, kiddo? I heard you heaving, you getting sick?”

“What? No- no, I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

The doorknob rattles and Sam thanks the heavens that he locked it and then immediately takes it back when he realizes that he didn’t and Gabriel is letting himself in without a problem.

“ _Sam._ ”

“I’m _fine_.”

The moment the words leave his mouth his stomach flips again, and he’s sitting up on his knees and lurching into the toilet to throw up all of the empty liquids in his stomach. It burns his throat and leaves an awful taste in his mouth and _hurts_ so bad and he’s so tired.

Gabriel’s just standing there, frowning at him in the harsh bathroom lighting. Sam glances at him in a way that must be horribly pathetic, head lolling just a bit from his exhaustion, because the next thing he knows Gabriel’s fingers are in his hair.

“...Are you sick and didn’t tell me?”

“No-”

“Sam.”

“Dunno.”

“‘Dunno’?”

Sam pulls himself back and flushes the toilet, burning with embarrassment and disgust, and stands up as if that will magically help.

“I just- I can’t sleep. And it’s been like three days and it’s making me all fucked up.” He somehow ends up sounding like a whiny child, but he doesn’t even care. 

Honestly, he could cry. He feels like he’s going to cry.

Gabriel sighs and that’s it, Sam is yawning and his eyes are _burning_ and he feels nauseous and it’s all so much, it’s so much and he’s a _burden_ and he’s emotional and the idea of going to bed and staring at his ceiling with an empty stomach and this feeling in his entire body makes him feel like panicking.

“Hey- hey, no, Sammy, it’s okay. Jesus Christ, you should have told me.”

Gabriel never calls him ‘Sammy’. Almost never.

“S’not like you can do anything. I’m not sick, I’m just- it’s so loud and I’m so tired and I want to eat dinner, I swear I do, it looks great, I just don’t feel good, I’m sorry-”

“ _Stop it_. C’mon, come on, I’ll make you something easy, just stop it.”

Sam has no choice but to obey. He’s still waiting for the laugh, for Gabriel to flick his forehead and tell him he should just drink himself to sleep or down a couple sleeping pills, but his tone is sort of...sort of like Dean’s.

Sam forgets sometimes that Gabriel’s a big brother, too.

Their dinner is still sitting at the table ― fettuccine alfredo, something Sam would be drooling over any other night ― and he inhales a bit with guilt but Gabriel pats gently at his ass and tells him to sit down.

Which he does, complete with folded arms and floppy hair, even though shutting his eyes just makes his throat close up.

So he waits, listening to the gentle sounds of Gabriel doing whatever he’s doing in the kitchen, and tries not to die. Gabriel’s seen Sam at _many_ lows over the years, and he’d think that he’d be over it by now, but there’s still some tiny, tiny part of him that wants to shrivel up with embarrassment over being caught in a state that’s anything but perfect.

Feelings. Stupid.

God, he’s tired.

Gabriel comes back with a hot cup of chicken broth and rubs at Sam’s shoulder when he puts it down in front of him. He’s very warm. Sam wraps both hands around the cup and genuinely can’t decide if it’s warmer than Gabriel’s hands.

“Something bothering you?”

“What?”

“The whole not-sleeping-thing, you stressed out?”

“I...don’t know. It’s like I lay there and suddenly every song I’ve ever heard is stuck in my head at once but at the same time it’s _too_ quiet and my blankets are too heavy or I’m too cold, like I just...can’t get it right no matter how hard I try and-”

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Sam almost dies at the realization that he was just definitely, genuinely whining. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix you up, calm down.”

“What?”

“I know what to do, don’t worry- just drink up.”

The sun is low. Sam glances out the window while he sips at the broth. “What if something’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, shut up.”

“Mm.”

 

Gabriel leaves him be while he eats his own dinner, carrying it away from Sam without him having to ask. He’s so domestic in so many ways that nobody else seems to understand, and Sam smiles despite his exhaustion while Gabriel puts all of the leftovers in individual tupperware containers and sets them in the fridge.

It’s nice, for some reason. Normal. Before they moved in together Sam was afraid that Gabriel was going to be a mess; was going to leave him to fend for himself while he ate all of the food and survived only on potato chips and microwave pizzas.

Again, stupid.

“You done?”

“Mhmm, almost.”

The broth is a little less than lukewarm, now. He takes the final sip and lets Gabriel take the cup from his hands.

“Good boy,” Sam almost sways out of his chair. “Now go take a shower, okay? Put on something clean, it’ll help.”

“What if my brain finally shuts off and I fall over and die?”

“Then it sucks to be me, clearing out your body.”

“Wow.”

 

Despite the joke, Sam tries to step under the water and back out as quickly as possible. He keeps it warm but not _too_ warm, and he’s pretty sure he misses washing half of his body, but he does feel better and he’s incredibly happy that he’s not bleeding and passed out against the porcelain.

Sam really has no idea what Gabriel’s trying to do, though he appreciates it, and he’s a little bit put off when he comes out of the bathroom with damp hair and clean pajamas and finds him sitting on the couch with his feet up and a movie playing.

He hears Sam coming and smiles when he sees him, a quick little glance and a pat to the cushion next to him. Sam obeys, with nothing else to do, and he’s expecting more instructions but instead Gabriel just grabs him and gently pulls Sam’s head down into his lap.

Which is definitely a place Sam has never been. Ever.

“Uh- Gabriel?”

“Re _lax_.”

“How- what are you doing?” And God, what if all of it really is a joke? What if Gabriel’s being an asshole like he is to _everyone_ -

“ _Baby_ ,” Sam’s expression must have been clear, because Gabriel is _cooing_ and threading his fingers through his hair; adjusting himself a bit so he can be comfortable with Sam’s skull pressed against his crotch. “I can hear you thinking, calm down.”

Sam still hasn’t relaxed; stares up at Gabriel with wide eyes and nausea creeping back up his throat. “...How does this help?”

Gabriel smooths his bangs back from his forehead and watches the TV. It’s definitely nice. “Just close your eyes, sugar. Listen to the TV,” He brushes his knuckles across Sam’s cheek. “Get out of that head of yours.”

Sam looks at him for a few seconds longer, until it stings his eyes. His hair is damp and starting to go cold, Gabriels fingers are warm, the TV is loud enough that he can hear everything, the lights are still on ― God, it’s- it’s the opposite of Sam’s dark, lonely room where he’s been tossing and turning, it’s _perfect_.

He breathes in deep. Gabriel’s fingers play along the shell of his ear, thumb pressing on the soft skin of his neck, and Sam does the worst possible thing and _whimpers_ , but he can’t even be bothered because it’s a goddamn miracle that he’s not crying.

Gabriel murmurs above him, a soft “Atta’boy”, and the room spins just a bit before Sam finally closes his eyes and sleeps.

 

Something in the movie explodes. Sam wakes up with a jolt, mind reeling and stomach lurching, and he’s pretty sure it’s only been a few minutes even though his body clock tells him it’s been years. The tease of sleep leaves him worse off than he was before, and when he stretches and breathes and presses his hands to his eyes he’s pretty sure he might actually cry.

“Fuck, fuck, sorry-” He’d almost forgotten Gabriel was there, still sitting perfectly still and letting Sam do whatever he needs. He scrambles for the remote without moving himself too much and turns the volume down enough. “Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry.”

His hands are in Sam’s hair again, over his hands to pull them away, and Sam takes a shaky breath when he moves them back to his stomach. It’s no use, it’s just _no_ use and he feels like he’s about to throw a tantrum and he probably would if Gabriel wasn’t here.

Gabriel curses again, quieter and more apologetic, and Sam looks at him and swallows and shuts his eyes to keep trying, because it’s all he can do. Gabriel’s fingers are just as soothing, but his heart is racing now and his frustration is all back at once.

And then Gabriel just leans down and kisses his forehead. Just does it as if it’s nothing.

Sam tries his best to act like it never happened. It didn’t happen. He’s hallucinating, he just is.

And then Gabriel kisses his cheek, and Sam opens his eyes.

 

And wakes up.

There’s an infomercial looping on the TV in dazzling 4:3 aspect ratio, and nothing has changed aside from the fact that Gabriel’s hand has stilled in his hair and his head is tilted back in sleep. It’s dark outside, but Sam can’t tell what that means, and he doesn’t know what time he actually went to sleep so there’s no way for him to judge how long he’s been out.

Gabriel’s neck is going to be sore. Sam is still tired, so tired, but he feels confident that he’ll be able to keep sleeping here if he knows Gabriel’s not hurting himself.

“Gabriel,” He tries, but he gets no response. “ _Gabriel_.”

“Hmm?”

“Go to bed.”

Gabriel tilts his head down, incredibly disoriented, and squints at Sam. The lights are still on. “Hm?”

“Go to bed, you’re going to hurt your neck.”

“What time is it- why aren’t you still sleeping, you okay?”

“I don’t know- just, please-” He yawns and it hurts his jaw.

Gabriel sighs. And then he’s moving, getting up and- no, that’s not getting up. He’s moving Sam like a ragdoll and pushing him up and making him whine and sliding down and ― _oh_. Okay, that’s not leaving, that is- this is Sam lying over Gabriel’s chest. This is just happening.

“What-” It comes out as just a squeak, and Gabriel is breathing in deep and wrapping him up like it’s just _normal_ for this to be happening and Sam’s heart breaks at the idea that this is just another weird dream. Maybe all of this was a dream.

“Just sleep, Sam.” Gabriel’s sleepy voice is nice.

“Okay.”

“Atta’boy.”

 

When Sam wakes again it has definitely been at least ten hours. The sun is bright and overbearing through the living room windows, and that heavy, groggy sensation he felt when he woke up in the night is finally gone.

Gabriel is not. Sam can feel his chest rising and falling under his cheek.

“Moooorning, gorgeous.”

“Uh.” His voice cracks unattractively. “Hi.”

Gabriel’s head is still turned to the TV. “You feeling better?”

“Yeah- yes, I-” He should really push himself up and stop just lying here, so he does, arm falling behind the couch cushions and down into the abyss for a moment, making him almost knock into Gabriel’s head. “I’m so sorry, oh my God-”

And then Gabriel is kissing him ― hand on his chin, lips on his lips, kissing him ― and Sam is lowering himself right back down like nothing because _oh_.

“Gabriel-”

“ _Shh_.”

“ _Gabriel_ -”

Gabriel groans. “ _What_ , Sam?”

“You must be starving.”

“Mhmm.”

“And- and I’m heavy, you must be all prickly-”

“I am.”

“And you had _work_ today, and your _neck_ must hurt so much, and your back-”

“ _Yep_ , what’s your point?”

His point is- everything. His point is that when they were kids Dean ate some of Gabriel’s Halloween candy without asking and Gabriel held that grudge for over a year; that when they have a day off and Gabriel wants to go for breakfast Sam needs to be up and on time or Gabriel will leave without him.

His _point_ is that Gabriel doesn’t- this. He doesn’t _this_. Whatever this is. Care. About other people. And that Sam has been keeping his crush under lock and key _because_ of those reasons and-

“I mean, I just- why, uh-”

“You’re cute when you sleep?”

“What? Oh. Is that all?”

“That’s all you’re getting out of me.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Gabriel leans in to kiss him again, but right before he can- “Gabriel?”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Can we have waffles for breakfast?”

“Whatever you want, baby, can I _please_ kiss you again?”

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you want, you can find me on Tumblr [**here.**](http://needsmoreyellow.tumblr.com/)


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